


The Derealization Disorder Disruption

by Roxie Ann (pluvial_poetry)



Category: The Middleman (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Yuletide 2012
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-25
Updated: 2012-11-25
Packaged: 2017-11-19 11:39:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/572862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pluvial_poetry/pseuds/Roxie%20Ann
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A paradox, inside a riddle, inside a mystery... Or possibly Wendy has just lost her mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Derealization Disorder Disruption

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kittu9](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittu9/gifts).



The forearm across her belly wakes Wendy up. To be more exact-- the hairy, heavy, male forearm across her belly wakes her up, because she’s pretty damn sure that it wasn’t there when she went to bed.

“What’s going on?” she asks the Middleman, propping herself up on one elbow.

He smiles at her cheerfully, spreads his fingers wide just below the hem of her t-shirt. “How’s your head?”

She opens her mouth to tell him that there are more pressing matters: hello, they’re in bed together, and who the hell’s bed is this anyway, this isn‘t her apartment or the Middle Office, when the throbbing in her brain decides to make itself known with an emphatic drum solo on her grey matter.

“It hurts,” she says, wincing in confusion, flopping back down on her pillow.

“We’ll take it easy today. You took quite a knock,” he says, patting her belly. “Head wounds are nothing to trifle with.”

\--------

“Head wounds are nothing to trifle with,” the Middleman says. His face swims into Wendy‘s field of vision, blurry and too-close.

“Yeah, I heard that somewhere just recently.” It takes Wendy a second and a deep breath to realize that the pounding she feels isn’t just in her head. It’s outside the door she’s propped up against. The door to the surprisingly tiny supply closet that she and the Middleman are sitting in. “What‘s going on?”

“Not to worry,” he says, and normally they’d need to start running immediately when he uses that tone of voice. “This door is made out of thrice enforced steel. Luckily the Hothstrautus‘ thermodynamic technology is in early days of development yet. With their inferior welding capability it will take them more than a day to get through that door to us.” The door gives an alarmingly shake as he finishes his grand declaration, and with that, the distinct sound of a really, really big blowtorch fills the room. “Or perhaps not. Are you feeling well enough to get up, Dubbie?”

\--------

“Are you feeling well enough to get up, Dubbie?” the Middleman asks her when she opens her eyes again. He’s straightening the collar of his shirt, already ridiculously pressed and neat, humming a song under his breath. It takes her a second before she recognizes the melody

“Are you humming 'The Rising' by the Boss, boss?” she asks, sitting up and glancing around and yup, she‘s back in the bed she shared with the Middleman. “’I guess I should be grateful that it isn’t ‘I’ve Got You, Babe.’”

Now that she’s up, things have gotten even stranger. That’s her art on the walls, her clothes spilling out of the closet. And the Middleman standing in the middle of it all, his hands on his hips, smiling at her softly.

“Up and at ‘em, Dubbie, we wouldn’t want to dilly-dally the day away.”

“Why not?” she asks, and he’ll have to forgive her if she’s feeling grouchy because she's still a little out of it. Gaps in her memory and bad dreams will do that to her. "Alien invasion forces enslaving the Earth? Genetic experiment gone wrong on a rampage? Evil scientist bent on world domination?”

“Worse than that, I’m afraid. Grocery shopping.” He bends down, and easy as you please, drops a kiss on her unsuspecting mouth. “No time to waste.”

\--------  
“No time to waste,” the Middleman murmurs, dragging Dubbie away from the door. She would gladly be more help, but it doesn’t seem like her feet are responding to what her brain is telling them to do. That’s probably not a good sign.

"What's the play, Boss?" she asks, shaking her head to clear it. It doesn't do much to dispel the nagging suck of the fact that she doesn't remember where they are or how they got there. "I distract them with my bump on a log impersonation, you bop them over the head?"

The Middleman gives her a grim smile and the thrice enforced steel door begins to give off sparks. "I won't lie to you, Dubbie. Our options are few."

\-----------

"Our options are few," the Middleman says, grimly staring down at the box of cereal in his hand. "I suppose we'll have to make do with the flakes frosted with artificial sweetener."

Wendy shakes her head in disbelief. “So we’re actually shopping at the grocery store. There’s no sentient holograms bent on taking over the local Muzak station that need defeating, we don't have to stop Bentatians from infiltrating Colgate toothpaste…”

“Don’t be a silly Sally, Dubbie," the Middleman says distractedly looking down at his grocery list. "Fluoride is toxic to Bentatians. Suckling seraphim!”

Wendy whips around at the exclamation, wondering if the soup display would make for good cover. “I was right, wasn’t I?! There’s something going on!”

The Middleman laughs, shakes his head. “My apologies for startling you. I simply forgot to grab a carton of moo juice. I can’t get the day started without it.”

“Of course," Wendy nods sagely, leaning on their grocery cart. Because they're just grocery shopping together. Nothing weird about that at all. "That’s what this day is missing. Milk.” Along with all of her memories and her sense of humor. What the hell is going on?

The Middleman laughs again, brushes an affectionate kiss over the top of her head, his hand skimming over her hip. “I’ll be back shortly.”

\--------

“I’ll be back shortly," the Middleman says, his square jaw set determinedly. "I need to reassess our exit strategy."

"And by that you mean stare at the door for the millionth time?" Wendy sighs, rubbing vigorously at her legs, trying to regain some feeling. This whole thing stinks. It feels wrong somehow, like she shouldn't be here, she's meant to be somewhere else.

“A job worth doing is a job worth doing well.” 

Wendy's head snaps up with his answer. There's barely a trace of his usual optimism left in his voice. He's standing in front of the door, watching the sparks fly, and their steel barrier go molten with slumped shoulders. The first shivers of unease start to work their way up Wendy's spine.

“What are we going to do?” she demands. There must be a way, it's not like they're going to die in a supply closet. How the hell did they even get to this point?!

He turns to face her and simply shakes his head. “There’s nothing left to do.”

\--------

“There’s nothing left to do," the Middleman sighs contentedly, wrapping his arms around her shoulder. "A place for every grocery, and every grocery in its place."

"Sounds good to me, Boss." Wendy has been standing at one of the large bay windows, enjoying the fading light. Southern exposure. Her favorite. It’s all perfect. The house, the life, the guy. Except that it isn't right. She just can't shake the feeling that there's somewhere else that she's supposed to be, something important that she's supposed to be doing, something that she can't quite remember. That this, all of this, as great as it is, can't be right, can't be hers, can't be --

"Calling me 'Boss' at home isn't exactly standard procedure for Middle fraternizations," the Middleman says, and he kisses that spot on the back of her neck that makes her knees a little weak. How does he know how to do that? How did they get here?

"I should have known you'd be a stickler for procedure even with the romance stuff," Wendy closes her eyes, and thinks. Maybe she's gone crazy. Maybe this is the final stage of a psychotic break, delusions of love affairs and cohabitation with your boss. Or maybe this isn't-

The Middleman interrupts her train of thought. “Well, you do know everything there is to know about me.”

Wendy almost laughs in the face of her reflection in the window, because it's so ridiculously and suddenly so obvious what the answer to her question is. “Real. This isn’t real.”

\---------

She opens her eyes and she's in a dinky little storage room about to die. Maybe she should have stayed asleep.

“We can’t get out,” the Middleman says, his voice full of despair. He turns to her, attempts to smile bravely. “I‘m glad to be with you, Dubbie, here at the end of all things.”

Which is bull, because he can't just give up, they can't just sit here and accept that this the end, Wendy thinks angrily. He would never--

That's when it clicks.

Wendy laughs with relief, closes her eyes. “Yeah, okay, this isn’t real either.”

\----------

_Middleman Headquarters  
5 minutes after Wendy wakes up_

“And you and you, and you were there,” she says to the Middleman, shivering into her towel. Their uniforms weren't really made for submersions in sensory deprivation tanks. She'll have to speak to Ida about that.

“I‘m impressed that you‘re able to distinguish reality from the subconscious world so effortlessly. Resistance to dream manipulation technology is an important part of your Middle training, Dubbie, and you've passed with flying colors," the Middleman says, and this, everything, is finally right. She woke up this morning in the apartment she shares with Lacey, came to work at the Middleman headquarters, and was subsequently sent off to dream land to learn how to fight off alien influences in her subconscious world. Exactly how today was meant to go.

"No sweat. It was a dream come true. Sort of," and she smiles because, "I have to say though, right now I'm pretty happy with reality."

The Middleman beams back at her, pats her companionably on her wet arm. "As am I, Dubbie. As am I."

**Author's Note:**

> This fic wouldn't be without Doctor Who, Inception, the Wizard of Oz, Groundhog's Day, and a little bit of the Lord of the Rings. With special thanks to Bruce Springsteen and Sonny and Cher. And possibly other things that I've forgotten.


End file.
